The Scientist and the Soldier
by Ammanalien
Summary: Ronon's new on the team... Rodney's a bit wary... But when a scientist falls ill, what does a soldier do? Full of McKay whumpy goodness.. of course!
1. Chapter 1

The Scientist and the Soldier

oOo

Rodney was staring. He couldn't help it. The big man moved a box, straightened and then stalked over to another, bending to rummage through the contents.

Ronon Dex, the newest member of their team, a man so resourceful, so dangerous, he evaded Wraith for seven years, was searching crates for tin foil.

Rodney wondered if his new team mate felt as out of place as he looked. Then again, he thought, Dex was a soldier, and this was a military team - he glanced quickly at Sheppard, leaning on a rock, P-90 ready for anything, as always. Perhaps Ronon fit in perfectly, and it was McKay himself who was still odd one out.

He looked across at Teyla who was crouched, delicately placing a sensor in the loose earth. Foil was needed to cover the equipment, against the elements, and she glanced up, just as Ronon grunted and tossed a roll to her. Engaged in a mundane task, she looked like Ronon had... out of place. Her story, of course, was similar to Ronon's; both from alien worlds... they were fighters, both had lost much to the same enemy and both had found a place with the people of Atlantis.

But McKay had to admit it; he was a little scared of the big Satedan, in a way he never had been with Teyla.

_Well, Teyla is a girl...,_ he thought.

_Yeah, a girl who can kick your butt any day of the week..._

They were on a simple, scientific expedition, sampling soil and taking seismic readings for the geologists. They had come some way from the gate and were moving in a wide semi-circle around it, planting sensors as they went. They would camp off-world tonight and then retrieve the sensors in the morning. Rodney was taking a break from calibrating the long soil probes and recievers, a job which required him to focus his scratchy, irritated eyes.

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, Rodney slurped greedily on the water bottle he was holding in the other.

He noticed it was almost empty; never mind, he had brought plenty with him. He screwed up his eyes against the sun's glare and his head thumped, sickeningly.

He sighed, and blinked. He'd already had more tylenol than he should, and was heartily regretting his late night drinking session with Radek. Zelenka's highly illegal rot-gut ought to be banned, as it had cetainly left it's mark on Rodney McKay.

"What are you looking at?", someone growled, and McKay jumped when he realised that the ex runner had stopped what he was doing and was now glaring at him with hooded and beady eyes. Rodney also realised that he was still staring at the man who could probably kill him with a flick of his finger.

He felt himself blush, like a schoolgirl, so he huffed and coughed.

"Nothing... I'm just... I should probably... ", and he quickly got back to his calibrations, without seeing the strange look on the Satedan's face.

oOo

Teyla laughed... a delightful, musical sound, and Sheppard looked shocked.

"Just because I fight the Wraith, Colonel, does not mean I have had no _experience_..."

"Well, I thought, you know... nice girls like you wouldn't know of such things", said Sheppard, obviously uncomfortable, his eyebrows still raised.

Teyla leaned forward and batted her eyelashes in mock seduction, "Perhaps I'm not such a _nice_ girl then..."

Everyone laughed again, even Rodney, who had exactly no idea what was being discussed, although it sounded like the kind of chatter he enjoyed. But he didn't care tonight. He moved a little closer to the fire, and pushed his dinner, still in it's packet, further away from him; the smell of it turned his stomach.

He felt like crap; his head pounded, his mouth was dry, and he was barely holding onto his stomach contents. Maybe he needed to sleep...

He clambered ungracefully to his feet, and watched as three faces turn toward him, flickering in the fire light.

"I'm... ", and he didn't even have the energy to finish, he just motioned loosely with his hand in the direction of his bed roll, and muttered, "G'night..".

Head down he made his way across to the tree where his stuff was. He didn't know if the others had even aknowledged him, but was really too tired to care. The ground was uneven in places, and as he stepped, Rodney felt every jolt go through him, turning his gut painfully.

They would wake him when it was time for his watch. That must have been some bad batch he'd had last night... no, he corrected himself, it was _all_ a bad batch. He over indulged and this is what you get for such a lapse, a seriously messed up and confused digestive system.

_Never again_, he vowed, as his stomach gave another little flip flop, and he wormed his way down in his sleeping bag, shivers chasing up and down his back.

oOo

"Hey, Ronon... any sign of movement?", smirked the colonel, as he swilled out his coffee cup and ditched it behind him.

Ronon was cleaning a knife, with a cloth he kept for that express purpose, but he looked up when Sheppard spoke. He had been aware of a conversation going on between the colonel and Teyla across the fire from where he himself sat; it hadn't concerned him... whatever they decided, they would tell him when they were ready. He imagined, though, it was about McKay...

All three of them turned to look across at the snoring lump-in-a-sleeping-bag that was Dr McKay. They had decided to let him sleep... through his watch and through breakfast. Teyla had mentioned a scientist friend of the doctor's, who had an alcohol supply; she had heard them singing raucously together, the night before the mission. Well, that made sense; the previous night, when McKay had dragged himself to bed early, the doctor had looked sickly and white faced, not unlike a person suffering from the after effects of too much alcohol.

But even before that, Ronon recalled, when he'd been searching boxes at Teyla's request, he had watched the doctor, looking tired, almost drain a water bottle dry. He had looked distant... spaced out and staring, eyes dull, and when Ronon had spoken, he had almost jumped out of his skin, his cheeks burning with an unnatural heat, two bright spots on a pale face.

In his opinion, though, Ronon thought McKay always looked kind of delicate... weak looking. When they had first met, he'd been hanging upside down in an ankle trap, helpless and vulnerable. He was obviously no soldier, his level of fitness not even on the scale. He wondered why someone like Sheppard would have him on his team. Then again, Sheppard had told him that one of their major responsibilities was the safety of the science staff, people with little or no training in the field; he had also heard that McKay was brilliant and maybe, he thought, that was enough for these strange earth people.

The colonel continued,

"Give him two of these when he wakes up...", he threw a package of pills at Dex, and he caught them easily.

"He'll no doubt have a rotten head. I'm going to have words with Radek... his stuff is lethal."

Ronon noticed Teyla was packing up her stuff and so was Sheppard.

"Teyla and I will walk back along the trail and pick up the gear. When Rodney wakes you can bring the rest of the stuff and meet us at the gate, it'll be quicker."

"Keep in radio contact... ", said Sheppard. Then as he turned to go, he asked, "You sure you two will be alright?"

Ronon knew what the colonel was really asking; _can you look after my scientist?_

He answered truthfully, remembering their conversation,

"I'll make certain of it, Sheppard."

The colonel smiled and said, "I know you will", and he and Teyla left.

oOo

In college, once or twice, he'd got stinking drunk. Crashing into bed only to wake later in the night with the horrible nausea of mild alcohol poisoning. With the room spinning disconcertingly, he found that if he closed his eyes, rode out the nausea, and tried to sleep, he could avoid the unpleasantness of throwing up... sometimes.

Now, he tried the same thing. This time, though, it was the branches of the tree above him that twirled and swooped. Funny, too, that he could _see_ the branches clearly, in full colour, as if it was day time; wait... it was day time, the birds were singing, it was light, the sky was blue... why was he still intoxicated?

There was a pain, too, pushing into his awareness... a stitch in his groin, thumping to the rhythm of his racing heart.

He groaned, lay as still as he could and breathed...

He could hear someone moving about; one of the others was making breakfast..._ no, don't think of food, McKay._

Then he heard the crinkle of leather near him, could smell it too, its heavy odour just too much for his delicate stomach. He actually felt the colour drain from his face as a huge wave of nausea washed over him.

He vainly tried to pull himself up and forward, but he found the pain was excruciating if he moved, and he weakly turned his head, resigned to puking all over himself. Then, suddenly, as his stomach wound itself up to spasm, he realised he was moving; he was leaning over, being supported in a strong and secure grip. There was that smell again... and that was when Rodney finally lost his battle with nausea, and vomited.

He heard the sound of retching, a desperate gasping; one hand was curled around stiff fabric, the other which was on the ground, clenched, finger nails tearing as they raked through soil and grit. The pain was like a searing white light in his brain, a stabbing, tearing sensation across his belly and down his right leg. He trembled, prayed that he would pass out, and all the time something held him... kept him upright, steady.

"What's wrong with you?", growled a voice, as the hands holding him allowed him to sink back down to the ground

Rodney's brow creased at this question; he honestly didn't know... he'd thought it was the world's worst hangover, but that was becoming less and less likely.

"Dunno...", he replied, feeling stupid.

"You're burning up...", and McKay realised that someone's hand had been on his forehead... and now he felt its absence, chilling him to the bone.

_What the hell is wrong with me?,_ he thought wildly.

oOo

Ronon withdrew his hand and Rodney shuddered and gulped, his eyes flickering, trying to focus. The man was restless, his body twisting, one knee brought up and his arms hugging his belly.

Ronon narrowed his eyes, a memory coming back to him, from long ago...

Many years back, on Sateda, he had watched one of the men in his unit, succumb to a rapid illness. One moment the man seemed to be fit and healthy, the next he was writhing in agony, curled around a pain in his side. He was feverish, his thoughts rambling. They had been out on a mission, were unable to get the help the man needed... and he had died, quietly in the end, but still with his hand clamped to his right side.

"Where's your pain?", he asked, with sudden urgency.

But the scientist had become unresponsive, his head flopping to one side, and Ronon could see his neck and hair were damp and shiny with sweat.

Whatever was going on, this was due to more than alcohol, and Ronon knew without a doubt... the scientist was in trouble.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading as always!

I've always wanted to do an appendix story, and I've had designs on Rodney's for a while! Sorry, doctor, but we just _love_ to kiss it better!


	2. Chapter 2

oOo

The radio felt clumsy and unfamiliar in his hand. This wasn't the first time he'd used it; as with most pieces of earth equipment, he'd been given rudimentary training in its function and use. Mostly he had learned from Sheppard, but there had been some input from others. In particular, there had been instruction on field medicine from Dr Beckett. Most of the practical knowledge he already knew, but the earth people had many substances - drugs, they called them, that he had never come across before. He started to consider what would be of help to McKay, when his thumb found the correct spot, and the radio crackled to life.

"Sheppard here. Go ahead, Ronon"

"It's McKay. He's sick" There; plain and simple.

The answer from Sheppard was equally quick and succinct, "I know... that's why we...", but Ronon interrupted,

"No, you _don't_ know. I mean he's _really_ sick. We need Beckett here... now."

There was a little pause.

"Can you get him to the gate?", crackled the radio.

"No. If it's what I think it is, we shouldn't move him."

"What _do_ you think it is?"

Too many questions... unnecessary.

"Never mind. Just bring Beckett. Dex out."

That would have to be enough, he had no patience for words when action was required.

During his years in the militia, he'd cared for many sick and injured comrades, had watched Melena tending to patients in the city hospital. Hell, he'd tended to himself enough times. Maybe he lacked the pleasantries, the flowery phrases, but he knew enough of what really mattered.

McKay was asleep... unconscious or asleep, one of the two. At least he was no longer doubled over with pain. He lay flat out, still under the broad and shady branches of the tree. He was breathing steadily, but a little too fast to be normal. Ronon had elevated his head, added his own sleeping bag to the doctor's, and had drawn Rodney's hands out from under the covers to lay on his chest.

There was sticky blood coating the fingers of one hand, mingling with dark dirt and thin strands of grass. He considered the injuries for a moment, then hauled over his large pack, and silently set to work. He washed the torn and bloodied nails with water from his canteen. The doctor had really 'done a number on them', as Sheppard would say. After dabbing them dry with cotton, he applied some of the white cream Carson had recommended for abrasions, and wrapped the worst of the digits in small white bandages.

After laying down the hand, Ronon noticed that the sick man was mumbling to himself, his lips twisting, coming back to consciousness.

Words emerged, softly spoken and hesitant...

"I'm trying... I need... ", he began, and then the voice seemed to catch and break, and Rodney was gasping and sobbing at the same time, "...sorry... _sorry_!"

"McKay... look at me.", Ronon ordered, bringing his face to hover over the scientist's. Rodney's face was an unhealthy white, shining with perspiration. Ronon noticed his lips were cracked... dehydration. He'd had nothing to drink since the vomiting earlier. Two blue eyes blinked open...

"Where...?", his confusion was evident.

"Still on the planet. You were dreaming.", he reached into his pack, this time drawing out a small wooden box. The balm inside, traded for, on another world long ago, was almost gone, but Ronon opened it anyway. He lifted the index finger of Rodney's sound hand and dipped it in the open box. He then brought the finger to McKay's lips, and indicated what he should do by sketching around his own lips.

"It'll help", he said gruffly, and he watched as Rodney first hesitated, sniffing at his finger suspiciously. But then went ahead and rubbed the balm across his dry lips, with fingers that almost didn't tremble.

"Thanks..."

Then he helped McKay drink from his flask, one hand beneath the damp head and the other on the bottle. Ronon felt a hand that was uncomfortably hot, flutter against his, as he continued to hold the bottle steady.

Sounds of gulping came from the scientist's throat, and Ronon pulled away, saying, "Not too much."

Once again on his back, McKay's chin dropped, his eyes flickering around the clearing where they had made camp.

"Where are the others?"

"They went ahead to complete the mission."

"So what's wrong with me, then? I get the feeling it's nothing to do with Zelenka's evil brew..."

Ronon replied, "You're sick. It's serious"

The indignant laugh that came from Rodney took him by surprise.

"Oh... nice.. why don't you just tell me how it is Ronon? Don't hold back..."

As the man spoke through gritted teeth, he drew up his right knee again, and Ronon could see that his pain was growing. Perhaps he should consider something from the med kit... he knit his brows, frustrated with his indecision and lack of knowledge... and frustrated that McKay must continue to suffer because of it. When the others contacted Atlantis, then Beckett would call; he'd wait until then.

"Beckett's on his way. You should get some rest.", he told McKay, and lacking anything else to say or do, he rose and took his pack with him.

oOo

Rodney watched as Ronon got up and moved away.

He hadn't missed the frown of disappointment on the soldier's face as he had failed miserably to hide his pain. He couldn't help it... really, he couldn't. The pain in his side was a knife - an icy cold, burning knife, buried to the hilt... if he moved, it hurt, if he didn't move, it hurt. Because of this, somehow, he felt compelled at least to squirm.

He was trying not to think about what it could be. This was cetainly no gas pain; he had lost count of how many times he had scurried up to the infirmary, fearing appendicitis, only to have Carson hand him a pack of Rollaids. Ironic then, that what he was feeling now, was probably a certain abdominal organ building up to explode in a spectacular spray of blood and poison.

He shuddered.

He wondered how his pain rated compared to that of others; was it this bad for Sheppard when the bug was sucking life from his neck? Did Ronon go through worse than this, when Carson removed his tracking device?

Trouble was, he knew... after all, he was a coward, he had no illusions about that. He just didn't like pain, couldn't bear it like it seemed some could. He watched as the big man moving slowly around their camp. What did Ronon think of him? That he despised his weakness was a given... but did he actually despise _him_?

He was afraid of pain... afraid of death... afraid of... Ronon. Afraid of just about everything. Ronon Dex feared nothing... how liberating that must be... Rodney could only imagine what that felt like, having spent most of his time after coming to Atlantis in a state of controlled panic.

The truth was, that whether he liked it or not, Specialist Ronon Dex was now his protector and nurse maid, and right now he was afraid that he'd succeeded in alienating the soldier even more.

oOo

"If they take - take your clothes... then - then you can't leave... I don't want to be here! Don't leave me here, they d-d-don't know me... "

Beckett had said to inject the morphine - one dose, and to do that, Ronon needed a muscle. He had been rolling up the scientist's shirt sleeve to get to his bicep, when Rodney had exploded into frantic action, tearing ineffectually at Ronon's hands, eyes wide but unseeing.

"McKay... stop!", he held the wrists lightly, and that was all that was required to overpower the man.

"You're not thinking straight. It's the fever. You need to relax, and don't fight me.. okay?", he tried to make his voice firm but non threatening. He knew the scientist didn't trust him... he had no reason to, after all.

Just minutes ago, as McKay had dozed in a fevered stupor, the radio had come alive with a screech. It was Beckett. Ronon had told him the sick man's symptoms, told him his suspicions and he'd heard the physician go quiet. Then he had given instructions... morphine for the pain, tylenol for fever. They were about to come through the gate and they'd be at the camp in less than an hour. He'd set down the radio and popped the fever reducer pill under McKay's tongue, just before he'd begun removing the sick man's jacket.

"I don't want your clothes, McKay, I just need your arm... see?" Ronon brandished the sterile wipe, and it seemed to him that Rodney did see it, through cloudy, blinking eyes, and he calmed himself sufficiently for him to continue.

He pushed the sleeve a little farther up, then swept the pad across the hot skin of the doctor's bicep. Glancing up at McKay's face, he saw he had his eyes open and staring, fixed on the leaf canopy above them. He was trembling; his mouth pressed into a hard line, his breath coming in uneven gasps. He'd seen this look before, it was the face of someone wracked by pain and trying desperately to hold on. Something welled up in Ronon Dex and he found himself speaking in a low voice, words that would probably go unheard.

"It's okay... It's alright... Breathe, that's it..", he prepared the shot, flicking off the top as he'd been shown. All that could be heard was the unsteady breathing of the man on the ground. Ronon pressed the injector cleanly into Rodney's arm, heard and felt it activate, and then his eyes came to rest on the pinched features of the doctor.

"Give it a second...", he whispered as he withdrew the needle, and carefully pulled down the sleeve, massaging the muscle as he did so.

It was then he saw an almost magical transformation. The pinched look, the frown of pain that had been on the scientist's face, seemed to melt in front of his eyes. A sigh escaped the dry lips, the mouth became slack, relaxed... Beckett had called this drug miraculous - and it certainly was.

"Ronon?", asked a weak voice, a little breathless around the edges."..'s 'at you?"

"Mmm..hmm.."

"Thanks..."

"Anytime", and he gave Rodney's shoulder, what he hoped was a reassuring pat.

oOo

TBC and thanks for your encouragement and comments.


	3. Chapter 3

A bit of swearing ahead... but you can't blame him.

oOo

It was spellbinding; _so_ pretty; pale light was fluttering, shimmering... sunshine danced through vibrant green leaves. His eyes blinked lazily, captivated by the waving branches above him. They whispered quietly to him, sang him dangerously closer to sleep, with words he could not catch. He didn't want to sleep again, he was a thinker... and he needed that to cling to. But as the pain had receded, and his body had relaxed, he was just so damned comfortable.

Blessed analgesia was messing up his thought processes, dulling his mind; but morphine was a beautiful word, and maybe that was what the leaves sang to him.

He swallowed, then gaped like a fish; his tongue felt at least three sizes too big for his mouth.

_Focus, McKay_...

He dragged his eyes from the scene above and spied Ronon, perched on a nearby rock. He was eating.

Rodney wasn't hungry, which was not usual for him. He was feeling much better; the knife in his side, although still there, was at least immobile. He was limp as a rag, though, and the knife had his body pinned; like an insect specimen in a glass case.

He had some memory of heat and pain... remembered images, feelings... dreams; they needed him and he was trying to help, to save them again.. and he was failing; someone was taking his clothes, leaving him in an alien and nameless hospital, terrified and alone.

But those nightmares had gone. Dimly he recognised that along with the morphine had come more benign dreams, and he was grateful for that.

The voices in the leaves whispered, demanding his attention, and he forgot his resolve, and gave it to them.

oOo

His heart lurched, a physical and painful thing. _Oh, God_...

It was so sudden, an avalanche of returning feeling, the first screaming nerve endings firing off gleefully.

The wonderful numbness had worn off, sneakily, as he slept; his breathing rate increased, sweat stood out on his brow.

It was going to get bad, and he wouldn't be able bear it.

"I need... do you...", came out of his mouth in a desperate burst, and it sounded very loud to him. He was afraid... trembling, and felt vaguely disgusted that he was begging for his next fix. He saw a blur of movement to one side; Ronon came over. His face loomed in closer, dreadlocks dangling.

"I can't give you any... not yet."

It seemed that the Satedan could read his mind, and Rodney saw there was genuine regret in his dark expression.

When Rodney was twelve, he fell from a rope swing, and broke his arm. It hurt. The hospital gave him a bottle of white, torpedo-shaped pills. "Two every four hours, when needed". Boy, did he need them. He popped two, and after waiting in agony for a whole hour, blissful pain relief lasted all of ten minutes.

_God damn useless medicine_... He remembered being hours away from his next dose, but he took it anyway, hoping vaguely that he wouldn't die.

He felt a knee pushed up against his leg as Ronon shifted, turning away to something, and then turning back.

"You're shivering... ", said Ronon, dumping something heavy over him.

He was torn; he wanted Ronon gone, away from where his shameful cowardice was laid bare, but the thought of being alone with his sickness was worse.

"Actually...I'm scared."

There, he'd said it. Couldn't hold it in any longer. It seemed that blind panic could loosen tongues. Now the big man would sneer at him, despise him even more.

_I hate myself._

Instead though, Ronon shrugged, and said "So?"

Rodney felt able to squeeze out a laugh,

"_So_?? _So_?! So I'm pathetic, alright? I'm a coward... I know what you think of me", breathless, he kicked and elbowed feebly at the covers over him.

"I hardly know you, how can I think anything about you?", the Satedan asked calmly, carefully sorting through the medical kit as he spoke.

Rodney was losing it. His fear and panic held him tight. The heat of his body, barely controlled by the meds he'd been given, had him struggling as if the very air around him boiled and stifled. The growing pain and sickness he felt, just served to make thinking straight an impossibility.

"You-you hate me... and don't pretend that you don't..." he squeaked out accusingly, realising he sounded like an over-tired child, having a hissy fit.

"I'm a no-account, useless geek, and - God damn it all to hell, I _hurt_... _Jesus_...", he felt his face crumple. His heart was beating fast, labouring like he'd run up a hill, but if he'd been at all able, he would have stamped his feet and smacked whatever or whoever was nearby. His right side was pulsating with every heart beat, the knife twisting and burning with new intensity. He thought maybe he whimpered, but couldn't be sure; he was sure, however, that he was now crying.

Hot tears flowed freely down his cheeks and Rodney could see the Satedan only as a blur in the smushy mess that was his field of vision. He felt his face mopped with a rough cloth and his eyes cleared sufficiently for him to see Ronon Dex, his face inches from his own.

"You think I don't get scared?", said Ronon quietly.

Rodney was dizzy, his vision was all gone to hell, but as the soldier sat back, he could see the outline of Ronon's face in shadow, a profile against the bright daylight behind him. He watched his eyelashes track down and up, down and up, as he blinked slowly.. wearily.

"I was running a long time...", he began, exhaling on the last word, his head nodding forward as he fiddled with something in his hand, and then flung a piece of it away.

"My world was destroyed, my people murdered, I left my... dead wife behind me. At first I didn't care about myself, I tried to end it.. let them find me.. kill me. But I couldn't. I felt like a coward. Then I realised, I wanted to live, I had to... for her. For my Melena."

Rodney wanted to ask about her, she was important, he could tell. But his thoughts were sliding away, leaving confusion and a great weariness.

"... and if you want to live - you've made that choice... then you're afraid to die... it's as simple as that."

Rodney realised that Ronon had a hold of his upper arm and was rubbing it firmly. His eyes flicked down to watch this huge and competent hand pull down his shirt sleeve, and the other, move to discard the small injector in its palm.

"Half dose...", he growled, by way of explanation, "...you needed it."

And the pain was diminished, still thumping relentlessly, but somewhere else, far from Rodney's conscious mind.

Fingers closed gently around his wrist, found a pulse, but didn't move away.

Ronon went on talking and Rodney heard it as if it echoed out of a long, dark tunnel.

"Some of the time I was afraid for myself, sometimes for... someone else", and he gave Rodney a strange look, which the scientist found oddly comforting.

"I get as scared as you do, McKay, and that's the truth. Anyone says they don't...", and Ronon took a noisy breath, startling him.

"..they're lying."

oOo

"You're a soldier... but you're different to Sheppard, and Teyla. You're _dangerous_... I guess I've never met anyone like you before."

Ronon couldn't help but smile. McKay was now something of an enigma. A small and weak man on the surface, there was obviously more to him than could at first be seen. Rodney McKay had a strength, and not the kind of strength that could be learned or trained for. He had shown it in the way he bore the pain of his sickness, the way he was fighting it all the way.It was an inner, steely determination that you either had or you didn't have. He hadn't seen the man in a fire fight, hadn't seen him defend his city from invaders or kill a man, but he didn't have to... McKay had shown the courage and strength required to do all these things.

Ronon had made a fire and boiled water. They were both sipping hot tea. He had tried to dissuade McKay from a cup, expected Carson would disapprove, but did not have the heart to deny him. He handed it over, sweet and steaming, and Rodney held it despite the tremble of his limbs. The pale scientist was now half sitting up, his pain having lessened over the last several minutes, a development which did nothing to ease the soldier's mind. Carson and the rescue team were still at least thirty minutes away.

"You believe in fate, McKay?", he asked, and Rodney just shrugged.

"Fate brought me here, after Sateda, after...", and he couldn't speak for a moment; he tucked away a painful memory for another time, before going on.

"I fight for Atlantis now... and my enemy is the Wraith... will _always_ be the Wraith"

"It's my...", and because he couldn't think of a suitable word, he stopped and looked up at the blue sky as if he'd find it floating there...

"Destiny", croaked McKay, and Ronon looked down sharply to see he wore the hint of a smile.

Ronon chuckled softly, a smile also creeping to his lips. He nodded in agreement, "Maybe.."

"..but I'm on this team to offer you, and anyone like you, my protection."

As he said this he raised his mug and then took a long draught.

"The Wraith might be my destiny, but _you_ are my job. Remember that. You don't ever have to be afraid of me, McKay."

There was a silence, then, as both men thought on these words, and Ronon imagined Rodney wondering at just how transparently afraid he must have appeared.

After what seemed like a long time, Rodney asked, "Are you always this chatty?", but his voice waivered somewhere in the middle.

"Only when I'm scared", Ronon replied, choosing honesty at that moment, and knowing that McKay could take it and would understand.

The doctor nodded, meeting his eyes only briefly, and then, after sipping nervously at his tea, nodded again.

"McKay?", Ronon barked, sharply.

Those bright blue eyes met his, this time for a good deal longer. The soldier's level gaze was intense and steady, his grip on Rodney's arm firm, willing him to hold on, to have courage... not to give up.

oOo

McKay's voice was a thick slur, his words jumbled, and he made breathless little sounds in between them.

"S'really not.. so bad... now", and Ronon thought that it was ironic that the scientist looked drunk, a ghost of a smile on his pale lips, when in actual fact, he was in heaps of trouble, his body slowly poisoning itself.

Ronon's large hand settled briefly on Rodney's forehead.

The heat was leaving him, and the cold and stillness of shock was closing in. Soon he would quietly slip away like the soldier had, years before.

Ronon removed his heavy coat and laid it over the shivering man. Help was coming, he knew they were on their way, worrying wouldn't change anything. Carson had called, out of breath and worried, and had put them at fifteen minutes from their position; the gate had been surrounded by trees, so no jumper to the rescue this time.

Melena had told him; left too long untreated, something inside breaks, releasing greater sickness into the body. If this happened, then nothing more could be done.

He had to believe that if anyone could save his team mate, the Lanteans could... that Carson had a miracle ready for Rodney McKay.

oOo

TBC and thankyou for your patience...


	4. Chapter 4

oOo

With a rustle and a clatter, the pack was dumped out. It was a mess; everything was damp, and there were soggy dregs of used leaf at the bottom of the tea cups.

The tea things were Rodney's - dark leaves in soft circular bags, a tiny metal sieve, square packets of sparkly sugar. To the scientist, tea making was an art, requiring adherence to strict rules and the use of specialised equipment. Of course, Ronon had scoffed at first, but it was undeniable; Rodney McKay made the best cup of earth tea in the galaxy.

He insisted on emptying the small bags into the water pan, making it 'the old fashioned way like Grandma McKay used to'. He would balance the silvery strainer over his tin cup, and pour the golden liquid through. Ronon hadn't used the strainer, but he thought it was interesting that he'd not forgotten to slit open and combine the tea bags.

Ronon had hastily stuffed everything into both their packs before they had made their dash for the stargate, and that had been yesterday...

oOo

Carson came running up, pushing past him as he rose, leaving him standing to one side like a spare part. Blustering at first and talking incessantly, asking quesions and snapping orders to his staff, the medic soon grew unnaturally quiet. Ronon stepped nearer, suddenly anxious. He saw Sheppard opposite, standing close to Teyla. Their eyes met and Ronon saw the worry there... but there was no hostility, which surprised him. All three watched as Beckett assessed his patient.

"How long has he been like this?"

Ronon started to answer, but was prevented by the doctor,

"Never mind- _too long_ is the only answer, anyway."

He stood quickly and addressed everyone there,

"We need to go... now. Or we'll lose 'im... simple as that. Let's go."

So, no miracles yet; Ronon rubbed at his face. He was tired, but had no real reason to be. It had only been a matter of hours since McKay had awoken. He saw the colonel stoop to pick up something from the ground; McKay's jacket.

Then, in a whirlwind of activity, the sick scientist, trailing wires and bags of liquid, was carried off by two uniformed men, with Beckett jogging behind.

oOo

Ronon entered the quiet infirmary. Last night Beckett had opened up McKay's belly, and done what he could. He had said there was massive infection and that the scientist was very sick.

Beckett's expression had been more than grim; he was telling them that their team mate might not make it. Teyla had uttered what might have been a sob, and put a hand to her mouth; Sheppard said nothing but looked down at the jacket he still held in his hand, rubbing at the red and white badge at its shoulder. Carson had ordered them away then, had not even allowed them to see the scientist. Ronon thought Carson looked desolate; then he remembered Sheppard telling him that the medic and the scientist were old friends, and he was thankful that McKay would not be alone that night.

As he got to Carson's office, he saw a dark head resting upon a desk in the corner, soft sounds of sleep drifting up. The doctor was exhausted, and Ronon would not be the one to disturb him.

McKay was in a large bed, looking very small and still. Wires trailed and machines whirred and beeped. A nurse who was replacing a clear bag on a hook, gave him a warm smile and moved away.

Looking around quickly he saw that he was alone for the moment; some staff could be seen in an adjoining room but they were behind glass. When he returned his gaze to the bed, he leaned over slightly, his knuckles resting lightly on the cover.

"Fight, McKay", he said in a low voice.

This was all he said, and he hoped it was enough. It was not his way to be expansive; if Rodney couldn't hear it, then there was no use saying any more anyway.

A noise behind him snapped him back from his thoughts. He turned to see another nurse shaking open what looked like garbage bags, and then crouching down next to an open cupboard. Ronon watched as clothing was pulled out and stuffed messily into the bags...

They were McKay's.

She put the two bags behind her, and closed the cupboard with a click. She rose, turning at the same time and went to grab the bags.

Suddenly, there was Ronon, like a brick shed, directly in her path.

For reasons so unusual that he could not fathom them, anger had surfaced, and he found himself trembling with fury.

"Touch 'em, and they're the last things you'll ever touch"

The eyes of the nurse grew bigger, but she knew better than to argue and left swiftly.

He was not so far gone that he didn't recognise his own inappropriate behaviour, but he found he didn't care, and he took the bags, tearing them open and replacing the clothes carefully in the cupboard.

Sheppard arrived soon after, to find him slumped in a chair next to the bed, and to tell him that it just wasn't done... threatening the nursing staff...

Ronon made a face that might have said_ fair enough_, but actually said _couldn't care less - bite me._

"How is he?", Sheppard asked, pulling up his own chair, and sinking into it.

Ronon felt foolish. He hadn't thought to ask anyone about the man's condition. To him it was irrelevant; either McKay lived or he died. Somehow it would be over, and he would be there whatever the outcome.

In answer to the question he simply shrugged and hoped the colonel would not pursue it.

"You look kind of tired. Maybe you should.. I dunno... sleep?", ventured Sheppard.

The colonel was observant, Ronon thought. In fact, he hadn't slept all night... hadn't even lay down his head. He'd been too wired, too strung out. He'd spent most of the night outside; running around the darkened city, resting occasionally, checking the time piece Sheppard had given him, willing the night to be over.

"I'm waiting", he explained.

"For what?", came the colonel's hesitant question.

"For it to be over", he answered, and he folded his arms across his chest and settled in for the long haul.

oOo

TBC and thanks for your patience and kind reviews!

I felt so bad leaving Rodney at death's door all these weeks, but family matters required attention. Don't worry though, I kept him unconscious and drugged up the whole time. Hope it was worth the wait... next chapter, I promise the scientist will awake!


	5. Chapter 5

oOo

As much as he wanted to wait patiently at the scientist's bed side, Ronon Dex found it impossible to be still all the time. He'd taken to pacing around the infirmary, circular routes that always returned to McKay's bed. The others would come and go, too, rotating through their own orbits; Carson, Sheppard, Teyla, the scientist who had all the alcohol... Radek, was it?

Crossing the infirmary, for what was probably the tenth time, he paused as he overheard someone mutter a familiar name.

"He's here to visit Dr McKay. Maybe they're friends..."

There was a laugh then, unpleasant, mirthless, before another man spoke.

"I don't know why... they're nothing alike. McKay's a pain in the butt to everyone here. Prima Donna type, thinks he's a genius."

Ronon turned back to the curtained alcove he had just passed. He moved closer and craned his neck to see around the almost transparent drape.

Two uniformed men sat on a gurney swinging their legs impatiently. Both had their left shirt sleeve rolled up, obviously preparing to recieve a shot. Ronon recognised the second voice as belonging to one of Sheppard's men. The colonel had organised some hand to hand training; Ronon was helping out with it. This soldier he remembered very well - a loud and over-confident young man, who didn't listen; Ronon hadn't thought much of him.

The first man spoke again,

"Well, I heard he _is_ a genius... we need him, that's for sure."

"Scientists! Leave 'em in the lab, I say. 'Specially _that_ one. Wouldn't know his arse from his elbow in a fire-fight. Let me tell you, if he was ever on my team... ? I'd make his life a living hell."

Ronon tensed; his chin dropped and his eyes flicked up.

If he had been Carson he would have let it go; Teyla, then he would have admonished them calmly but sternly; if Sheppard, he would have threatened to put them on report or maybe signed them up for some unpleasant sanitation duties. But, because this was Ronon Dex, proud son of Sateda, friend and protector to Rodney McKay, he simply went straight over there and punched Airman Spinks on the nose.

Blood shot out and down and up... spectacularly. It was an economical blow, delivered quickly and only resulting in slightly bloodied fingers, for Ronon. He calmly wiped them off on the airman's uniform jacket.

"I'm sorry,", and his voice was a flat mechanical growl, "..I tripped."

Spinks' jaw was hanging open, dripping blood as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He seemed to be lost for words.

oOo

"I don't care", he said, sounding bored in a way that only Ronon could.

Just outside the infirmary, Sheppard had cornered him. Inside, Carson was tending to a subdued airman with a broken nose. Both servicemen involved told the same story; that Ronon Dex had tripped on a carelessly discarded bed pan and had fallen into them, so causing the unfortunate injury. Sheppard wasn't buying it, though... nothing about the story rang true. The big man responsible, was standing hunched against the wall, glowering with his arms folded in that familiar _get lost_, kind of way.

"But you have to care, buddy. This is the military... you can't do that kind of thing - at least, not unless it's to one of the bad guys. Spinks is one of _us_, Ronon."

"No.", he snapped, eyes flashing, "... he isn't."

John took pity on the man when he saw his hollow eyes and tired demeanour. McKay was not doing well, and they were all waiting for better news. His tone softened,

"Look... Ronon. I hear ya.. I really do, and maybe the little weasel deserved it... but if you're going to fit in here you're going to have to... I dunno, _tone it down_ a little?"

Brown eyes just smouldered...

"Understand?", he tried again.

Ronon made a non-comittal sound, pushed off from the wall, and walked back in to the infirmary.

_That grunt he just made... probably meant yes_, thought Sheppard, realising that was all he could really hope for today.

oOo

Poison...

Flowing through his veins... sickly, liquid death. It burned him, seared and scorched him; his body was a furnace. Heat and pressure pulsed, to the beating of his heart. Colours swirled, and images formed; of Sheppard; of Elizabeth; of Ronon Dex.

Then... something happened.

As if his veins suddenly ran with cold water, the fire was quenched.

Where was he? Was he alone? He was confused, agitated, tired, scared... he was... warm.

Was he awake? It was dificult to tell; he felt awake.

He could feel something covering his face, making it hard to breathe. He tried to say, _get it off_, but no sound came and he didn't even think his lips had moved.

The thing on his face was gone; then, it was back... gone... back... gone...

"Leave it...", growled a familiar voice.

Only then did he realise that his right arm was windmilling back and forth to his face... had been doing this for a while, and every time his hand succeeded in scrambling the thing away, it would only appear again.

Anger surged up, and became a single word...

"_Off...!_", he spluttered breathlessly.

A sudden warmth circled his wrist and his hand was stilled.

"We got back. You're safe...", said the voice, and all at once Rodney identified its owner: Ronon Dex.

Things were slowly becoming clearer; he thought that probably, the thing on his face was an oxygen mask. He was breathing in raspy little catches of air, that hardly felt enough to sustain a kitten, and he could feel sweat standing out on his forehead. He was lying in a bed, in the infirmary, and today, he was missing an organ that he'd had last week.

He heard the shift of booted feet, felt a waft of air as someone moved away, mumbled voices.

He moved his left arm just to see if he could; there was a pinch in his hand and he felt something tug at him... it stung.

Memory flooded back; the hangover that never was, the chill of fever making him shake, his own humiliating weakness, begging for morphine, the smell of vomit, the certainty of death... and through it all the big Satedan, his new team-mate... scary, enigmatic, a man-mountain of strength and capability...

...his salvation.

"Stop yer waggling, Rodney. Ye'll have yer line out.."

Well, that was easy... he knew that voice.

"No talking, lad... for the moment, anyway. Just listen instead. You've been very sick, but you're on the mend now."

As Carson talked, Rodney felt increasingly breathless, and small feelings of panic grew. His eyes were open but all he saw was a blur of watery colour; he realised his hands were clenched and his body seemed to vibrate. Would he shiver and shake right off the bed? He thought he heard a whimper and knew it came from him.

Anyway, Carson must have seen his distress and Rodney heard the doctor rap out an order,

"Let's get this O2 increased... Melissa? Thanks."

There were clicks and swishes.. a wave of coolness crept slowly up his arm, and he began to feel light-headed and strange. He would have giggled if he'd had the breath for it.

A hand came down on his, impossibly large... he could feel its roughness, but its warmth was instant.

"Take it easy, McKay", and Dex's soft rumble sounded to Rodney like scratchy woollen blankets, settling over him.

Rodney was still gasping in little puffs, but that hand was his lifeline.

oOo

"Thanks... for what you did... you know, taking care of me, and all", said McKay, quietly, finding he wasn't able to lift his eyes.

He was sitting up; gone was the oxygen mask of yesterday, and he had just managed to get down half a bowl of clear soup. Rodney could not believe how something so simple as half a bowl of soup could make a body feel so much better.

Ronon gave him one of his looks... it said, _you're welcome, we're good... but don't hug me._

They were all slowly learning these non-verbal cues that were part and parcel of Ronon Dex; the one that meant,_ don't mess with me;_ the one that said, _McKay, you're a jerk;_ and last but not least, the rare but magnificent, _I am amused._

Rodney's team-mates had come and gone. Teyla had just about made his day by leaning over and, with a sparkle in her eyes, kissing him on the cheek. Sheppard had told him that he looked better, but said little more; Rodney was just grateful to see the worry gone from the colonel's face. Ronon was still sitting in the ugly plastic chair that he had made his own over the last few days; it didn't look like he was in a hurry to go anywhere.

"I want to ask you something", said Rodney, hesitation evident in his voice.

"You've been working with Sheppard, haven't you... helping with training?"

Dex nodded.

He felt suddenly foolish, sure that he'd be laughed down, but he continued anyway.

"Think you could... I dunno... train me? .. a bit? .. sometime?"

There was no response; he searched Ronon's face but only found a steady and neutral expression resting there.

Hurriedly, he went on talking, doing what he always did best... blustering.

"I can shoot; I know, theoretically, how to disarm someone; I - I - I know those goofy hand signals; I can dismantle, clean and reassemble my Berretta, and...", at this point he raised a finger dramatically.

"... if you ever need to know, I can show you a great place to dig a latrine."

Dex was now contemplating his feet, his legs stretched out in front of him.

Still McKay was undeterred, as if, once started, this verbal avalanche was unstoppable.

"But, I don't know enough. I need to learn more...stuff. Since I got here, I never wanted to.. learn, I mean. I'm a scientist, not a soldier. Didn't think I could do anything like that, anyways. But things have happened... to me, to all of us, and - and I don't want to let anyone down"

He felt all at once deflated, spent... weary.

"I'm tired of being the weakest link.", he said, hating how petulant he sounded.

Still nothing from the Satedan.

That was it... he'd had enough. The indignant scientist reacted suddenly, throwing up his hands, one clipping the night stand and dislodging an empty plastic beaker. It clattered off... spectacularly loud.

"You think it's hopeless, then? _I'm _hopeless? For God's sake say something!", he screeched, exasperated and now feeling distinctly tired and grumpy.

Then there was silence; McKay thought Ronon looked like a mystical oracle who'd been asked a really difficult question. He took a measured breath in, and said,

"Back on the planet... everything I said... I meant it."

"Oh", he said, desperately trying to remember what had actually been said. He had to admit, a lot of it was kind of fuzzy. Something about fate and destiny.. there was tea, of all things, and then something about a wife... Ronon's wife.

McKay sensed that now was not the time to bring that up... but he would; friends talked about stuff like that, didn't they?

Heaving himself out of his seat, the Satedan stretched, his toes flexing, arms up and hands touching; he looked like he was about to dive into a swimming pool.

"Let me know when you're ready"

_Oh, wow... guess that means yes, then..._

"Yeah... great." Rodney was speechless - well, almost.

"You going now?"

"Yeah... get some more rest... you'll need it", and there was a wry twinkle in the man's eye.

He looked closely at McKay for a long moment and then said,

"You'll be alright."

And as he watched his team-mate leave, Rodney thought that perhaps he would be.

The End

Thanks so much for your interest and kind reviews! x


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